I can’t help but feel sorry for my brother. He’s always had a tougher road than my other brothers, which has led him down a path of addiction that he can’t seem to overcome.
“I’ll see you in twenty.”
A few of our warehouses are behind Sully’s Dry Cleaners. Along with the three warehouses, I also own four multistory apartment buildings in front of the warehouse we’ve namedThe Pit.It’s where we handle most of our business.
In Hell’s Kitchen, the residents turn a blind eye to the shit surrounding them as long as their beloved buildings are well-maintained. So do the Irish, who I have cultivated a close relationship with, which allows the Larsson Syndicate to operate in their territory as long as I give them what they want.
“What’s he doing here?” I ask Alrick as soon as I enter the building.
He shrugs. “Don’t know. I didn’t ask because he’s out of it. He looks like shit, Florian.”
“Of course, he does. That’s what fucking drugs will do to you.”
As we walk toward the coolers at the back of the warehouse, the sound of my footsteps reverberates through the space, bouncing off the smooth tile floors.
When I bought the place from the O’Connors, I almost took the coolers out. Alrick had the idea they might make a good soundproof room just in case we needed to get information out of our enemies.
I agreed.
The air in the warehouse is filled with the sound of clanging crates as the boys work diligently, stacking the newly arrived ghost guns from my supplier, a powerful one-percenter motorcycle club based in Las Vegas. It’s not uncommon for me to be present at any of my operations, so no one wonders why I’m here.
They continue to do their jobs as I make my way to see what condition my little brother is in. That being said, I can’t help but worry about someone else spotting him here.
“Did anyone see him other than you?”
It’s not about my brother’s drug addiction. It’s about someone using it against me. In this kind of work, I can’t have that kind of weakness. Anyone can keep him supplied if they think I’d spend any kind of money to help him.
“I don’t think so,” Alrick replies. “I found him sleeping against the dumpster. I don’t even think he tried to make it inside. He’s not looking so good.”
I paid thousands of dollars to get him clean after I paid off his debt. My father doesn’t care if he’s an addict as long as it doesn’t affect his reputation.
My half brothers and I don’t have the best relationship. The truth is, they can’t stand me. But what can I say? I have a soft spot for the kid because I know he’s fucked up in the head because of our father. He’s still young, and his behavior can be corrected. The others don’t have an excuse for their behavior.
I thought Didrick would be tied to a chair like the others, but he’s not when we enter the cooler. My eyes are filled with curiosity as I glance at Alrick. He knows I’m not close with any of my brothers, even though I’ve tried to help Didrick in the past.
“He’s still your brother.” He shrugs. “I didn’t think you’d want him treated like everyone else. And, like I said, he’s not doing too good. Tying him to a chair served no purpose.”
I remain silent. Alrick is right. I don’t want to treat Didrick like my enemy, but if it was one of my other brothers, those motherfuckers would be tied to a chair and getting the shit beat out of them for lurking around my business. Didrick is different. He always has been. I guess it’s because he reminds me of myself at that age.
His current state causes my heart to constrict inside my chest. Even at seventeen, he has his entire life ahead of him if he can break free from this addiction. His drug of choice is heroin. From my understanding, it started with a pill addiction and morphed into this after a nearly fatal motorcycle accident.
I lower myself next to his feeble body, observing the fresh needle scars on his arms, and a swirl of guilt consumes me. Damn, he’s lost so much weight since the last time I saw him.
How long has it been?
Lying in the fetal position, Didrick has his arms crossed over his chest and his knees pulled up to his stomach. His body is so thin that it looks like his skin is stretched tightly over his bones.
I watch for the slow rise and fall of his chest, then breathe a sigh of relief when I see it.
Good. He hasn’t overdosed.
I brush his usually pale, matted hair away from his sunken eyes, now darkened by dirt, giving it a grayish hue. His clothes are covered in dirt, blood, and what looks like vomit, maybe food. As I slide my thumb across the dirt smudged on his pale skin, anger surges within me. He’s been on the streets for a long time, and I didn’t know.
How am I any better than our father if I don’t take care of him?
“Didrick.” I nudge him. “Didrick. Wake up.”
As he squirms, his eyes slowly open. When he catches sight of me, a frown appears on his face. Tremors rack his frail body as he tries to sit up, forcing me to help.
